


How can I repay you?

by SeventhSister



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Consensual Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Healers, Healing, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, POV Female Character, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22129273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventhSister/pseuds/SeventhSister
Summary: Reader saves Geralt's life without knowing who he is. He has a debt now, and a very peculiar way to repay it.(or some shameless reader-insert smut, with some plot)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 815





	How can I repay you?

**Author's Note:**

> Based on The Witcher Netflix show, I'm not very familiar with this universe so I may have taken some liberties.  
> Please note English is not my native language, be kind <3

“Witch! ‘You in there? Need ya! Quick!” 

The words take you out of your daily morning meditation session. The villagers weren’t always nice to you, a _witch_ , but it is pretty rude of the man who was shouting and banging at your door to come so early and un-announced. You sigh and rise to open the door.

A visibly distressed and out of breath villager is looking at you. Behind him, a group of men is gathered around a cart with a pile of something bloody and muddy in it. Whatever it is, it will either need intensive care or some sort of exorcism before being burnt and buried as far in the forest as possible. It’s not how you envisioned your day, but you’ll have to review your plans it seems.

“It’s… it’s a Witcher. He needs help. ‘Was bitten I think.” 

The villager pauses and gulps. 

“By ghouls I think.”

You let out a soft “fuck”, before running to the cariole, screaming to the men here to stay away. If the Witcher has already turned into a goul himself, then only some sort of miracle would prevent everyone here to be bitten and turned as well. You take a quick glance at the body covered in blood, obviously both his own and the black thick blood of ghouls. You raise your hand above his forehead, and say a quick spell, closing your eyes and focusing on him. You sense _life_. He’s not dead, and even better, he’s not a ghoul. Yet. You have to act fast. 

“Help me carry him inside.” You instruct the villagers, hoping they wouldn’t be scared enough to help you. The Witcher is massive and it takes 4 men to lift him from the cart to the day bed you have in your home for when you need to watch over the sick or old villagers.

You start frantically searching through your herbs and potions to prepare the one that hopefully will cure the ghoul poison. Applying the thick paste you made on the wounds, you start saying prayers in elder. It will be a matter of minutes now. If he doesn’t turn in a few moments, it will mean he’s saved. You all wait, the men from the village still in front of your home, holding their breath.

“Well, I think he’s gonna be ok, but he needs care. Can anyone tell me what the fuck happened here?” Now that you handled the emergency, you need answers.

The same villager that knocked at your door in the first place volunteers one more time to explain the situation. A village next to yours hired the Witcher to go hunt some ghouls. Except they didn’t mention there was an entire colony of them and not just two or three runaways. So the Witcher went into the forest only to find himself outnumbered. He managed to rally a know path and someone from the village found him unconscious before bringing him to you. It was unbelievably stupid from the people who hired him to not tell him the whole story, but there is nothing more to be done to undo the ill that had been made. 

You send the villagers back and ask for them to send a boy the next day with food and clothes for the Witcher. You really hope the ones who paid the Witcher in the first place would pay you for your hustle. But in the meantime, you have to feed and dress him. 

Once your home is finally silent, you take the time to look at the Witcher who is lying, still passed out, in the middle of your living room. He’s a mess. He is covered in dried blood. His white hair are disgusting, soaked with mud, stuck on the side of his face. Earlier, when tending to his wounds, you didn’t care removing his already shredded clothes and just ripped them to have a clear access to the bites. He’s just wearing rags at this point. And he stinks. You sigh and as the adrenaline in your blood is coming down, you go fetch a bucket of water and a clean cloth. You heat the water and carefully, slowly, you bath his body, removing as much of the filthiness as you can. You have to change the water in the bucket so many times you stop counting. But after a few hours, he’s as clean as you can get him. You throw what was left of his now useless clothes in the fireplace, and put a clean sheet on him. The fire is perfectly heating the small room and he won’t need more to keep warm. 

The light of the flames is dancing on his body, and you finally allow yourself to notice how handsome he is. Muscular body, sharp jaw, and high cheekbones. Various scars are scattered all over his skin, adding to the danger he inspires, even asleep. 

You watch him a little longer, and you go to bed, tired but strangely happy he didn’t die.

The next day, he stays asleep while you re-apply your home-made paste on his wounds, actually amazed at how quickly he seems to heal compared to a regular human. 

He finally wakes up on the morning of the third day, as you’re starting to wash him with the cloth. You were carefully moving away his Witcher necklet when he seized your wrist. 

“Mmm… where am I?” his voice is barely more than a growl. 

“I’m a friend. You’re safe. You’re in Soheran, north of the Great Forest, I’m the healer there. You were bitten by ghouls. But you’re ok.”

“Fuck”

He releases your wrist, and tries to rise up.

“Wow, go slowly sir, you’re still really weak.”

He sits on the bed, the sheet only covering his legs. He grunts, and rubs his face with bruised hands.

“Water”

It’s a whisper but also an order. You don’t really like the bossy tone, but you bring him a pitcher and a cup. Before you have the time to fill the cup, he snags the pitcher from you and drinks greedily directly from it. _Beast_ , you think to yourself. 

“More” he asks, before adding “Please”. 

You relax a little and bring him more. After all, the man has seen death and came back, before lying in some sort of coma for the last 3 days. He deserves a little compassion despite his bad manners.

You bring him food, and while he eats, you walk him through the details of what happened.

He stays silent the whole time. You start doubting he’s even listening to you. But, as you finish your monologue, and hands him out the fresh clothes the boy from the village had brought, he lets out a “Thank You”. For the first time in days, you smile.

As the days go by, each day seems more and more like the day that preceded it, except for the mood of the Witcher which improves with each night of rest. You tend to his wounds, ask a few questions about him which he answers with a few chosen words. You go on about your usual tasks, visiting the village, collecting herbs and other ingredients in the forest. When you go home at night, you’re always surprised he’s not gone. Surprised and relieved. 

On the fifth day, he finally tells you his name. Geralt of Rivia. You already knew. You knew his name from the songs and you hadn’t heard about a lot of Witchers with white hair and a Wolf pendant in the area. The connection was pretty easy. But you were kinda flattered and grateful for his trust. 

One evening, when you’re back from the village after taking care of a sick kid there, you find your home empty. You stand in the middle of the dimly lit room, sadness creeping in way too quickly for your liking. But dull thuds cut through the silence. They seem to be coming from behind your house. You storm out of your home and run around it to find Geralt, stripped to the waist, cutting wood logs. You can see the muscles of his massive arms ripple under the skin because of the effort, his bare torso covered in sweat and his silver necklace gleaming in the last of the sunlight.

“Geralt, what the fuck?!” you scream, pretty sure the wounds you spend so much time trying to heal will open up again if he’s not careful. 

He‘s taken aback by your reaction. He lays down his axe and looks at you, almost sorry. He stays there and you feel a heat growing in your cheeks. It’s like he’s really looking at you for the first time. With the axe by his side, you realize how impressive of a warrior he surely is. Your gaze lingers on his powerful hands, and you catch yourself wishing for them to hold you tight. You say nothing and head back to the house, trying to escape his cursed golden eyes and his pretty wry smile.

That night, after dinner, you’re checking his wounds, carefully removing the bandages. He’s almost healed. Only a couple of days before he could go on about his life, leaving the safety of your little house to go back into the dangerous world, where he truly belongs. He never expresses his will to leave, but you could sense he was repressing his thirst for adventure staying here, idle all day long. You couldn’t resent him for going out and cutting some wood for you, his only way to exercise around here. After you’re done, you pour the both of you some ale. You’ve deserved it.

“So… How can I repay you?” Geralt said over his cup of ale. 

You were both chatting in front of the fireplace, sitting on the fur rug, sipping on the brown liquor. The combined heat from the fire and from the alcohol was deliciously setting into your body. 

“Repay me?” 

“You saved my life. I have a debt.” 

“Well you owe me nothing. I’m a healer, that’s what I do.”

_The ones who need to pay me are the idiots who hired you in the first place and sent you to your death_ you think to yourself.

“I insist.” He says playfully, planting his amber eyes in yours.

“Well you could, I don’t know, cut some more wood for the fireplace?” you offer, stuttering.

“I was thinking about... something else” he says leaning dangerously close to you, voice too low to be devoid of _bad_ intentions.

You’re starting to blush, realizing what he’s implying -or is it the alcohol clouding your brain?

You’re both loners, and you saw the not-so-innocent way he was looking at you. It makes sense for him -and for you, you think- to want to spend some good times together. Even if your reason tells you to try and go for it, your body is quicker. You lean towards him and close the distance between you. Your lips are on his before you could think further about the consequences. 

As you suspected, he answers the kiss, slowly at first, then with more vigour as your hands grab the side of his perfect face. His hands are on your waist, so big they can almost go around your entire body. He’s softer than you’d have imagined, taking his time. But you can feel a hunger growing fast in your belly, and you wish he weren’t this considerate. You breaks the kiss to remove his shirt, and he takes that as an approval for him to undress you as well. He slips your light dress over your head, and you find yourself naked except for your white bloomers. Geralt stops for a short moment, admiring the beauty of your skin and searching for your silent approbation before starting to kiss you again. 

His lips quickly leave yours and are now everywhere he can reach: your cheeks, your neck, your breasts. You can’t prevent a moan from escaping you when he starts licking one of your nipples. Your run your fingers through his silver hair, and you could sense him slightly twitching when you tug at it. You bring his face close to yours again, drowning yourself into the golden seas of his eyes, his massive frame towering over you. You should be scared, but you’re not. You have bewitched the Witcher. You can feel his hardened length through the fabric of his pants against your thigh, and it’s making you even wetter. His hands are still on your waist, pressing you into the soft fur on the ground, traveling lower and lower, over your thighs, then up again, massaging your soft belly, teasing you without touching you where you really need it.

You pull him into a kiss, and without warning you bite on his lower lip, way for you to let him know you don’t have time to play. He lets out a surprised grunt, and takes the hint, finally pushing away your bloomers and dragging a finger through your folds. You’re dripping, and the intoxicating feeling of his calloused fingertips on your most sensitive parts is not improving the situation. He muffles your moans with his mouth, and when you start squirming from the pleasure, he keeps you still with his left hand spreading firmly over your hip. It doesn’t take you longer to come under his deft fingers, flashes of white blinding you while he buries his face in the crook of your neck, as he keeps stroking you through your orgasm. 

When you finally come down, the Witcher smiles at you. 

“Want more?”

His deep voice is sending shivers down your spine.

You nod and you feel a finger teasing your entrance, going in with little resistance. He quickly adds a second, and your breath hitches when he crooks them, brushing against that perfect spot inside of you. This time you’re glad he’s taking it slow, stretching you and preparing your body, because you can tell from the bulge in his pants that his girth is definitely something out of the ordinary.

When you feel ready, you gently push his hand away from you, and push him back until he’s sitting on the ground with you on top of him. You open his trouser fly to reveal his heavy cock. His skin is soft and hot beneath your touch as you ran your fingers along his length, the tip already shining with the result of his desire. 

You settle both hands on his shoulder, while he’s holding your hips, and you lower yourself on him. Even if you’re prepared, the sudden stretch takes your breath away. It’s painful and delicious at the same time, your whole body set ablaze by the new and extreme sensation. You start moving slowly, adjusting to his size little by little. He’s also breathless, your tight cunt around him feeling like heaven. You’re doing all the work, and soon you’re trembling with pleasure, your legs giving out under you. But that doesn’t stop the both of you, and he keeps lifting you, up and down, like you weigh nothing. He moves one of his hand just so he can touch your clit while fucking you, and when he starts stroking your sensitive nub with his thumb, you know you wont last long. His pace is quicker and more erratic now, his moves are becoming messy, but one final thrust of his hips is sending you over the edge, and while you see white again you can hear him grunt and swear through his own release. 

You’re too tired to climb the steep stairs up to your bedroom on the mezzanine, but as you are falling asleep on the fur rug lulled by the soft crackling of the wood logs burning in the fireplace, Geralt scoops you up and carries you upstairs. You settle in the bed, curling up next to him. 

“Does this mean we’re even, now?” he asks innocently. 

“This is a good start, but your life is worth more than just one night, don’t you think?”

He chuckles and wraps an arm around you. 

“I’m sure I can stay a few more nights then.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, and you can’t help yourself but wonder how you can save his life one more time. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
